


Lucy Writes a Blog: The Limits of Friendship

by brontevindicator



Category: Villette - Charlotte Brontë
Genre: Charlotte Bronte - Freeform, F/M, Villette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:30:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brontevindicator/pseuds/brontevindicator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a modern adaptation of Villette by Charlotte Bronte, set in 21st century London. Lucy Goh (Lucy Snowe), John Beh (John Graham Bretton) and Gina Rahman( Ginevra Fanshawe) are Malaysian undergraduates studying in London. Lucy blogs about her life and her relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's been six weeks since I last saw John. Haven't checked his Facebook for more than two. I wonder how he is. I know what you're saying, "CHECK FACEBOOK, WOMAN!"

The thing is I have sort of renounced Facebook. No, I haven't deactivated my account (yet), but I have ceased to post updates long ago, and I refuse to succumb to the conventions of online socialising, i.e. updating the world about your trivial miseries, posting drunken pictures etc. Facebook is just POINTLESS. Why should I waste the rest of my life stalking people's statuses about parties they don't invite me too, or gossip about people I've never met? 

There's probably nothing interesting anyway. He hadn't updated his timeline last time I checked. Perhaps he's busy. I mean, he has to concentrate on his Masters and everything ... he probably has more on his plate than I do.

My aunt keeps on asking if I've heard from John lately. The answer is no. I wish she wouldn't ask such questions. She knows very well that John and I are not close buddies, so why should he contact me on a regular basis? It hurts every time she brings up the subject. 

Our meetings seem a world away, so far away from my current life. Though it's not just our meetings. The world around me seems to be removed from my existence. I don't feel as if I'm part of it. I haven't even logged into Facebook for a while. Unlike some people, Facebook is not necessary to my survival.

I WILL NOT CHECK FACEBOOK. I WILL NOT SUBMIT TO STUPID SOCIAL CONVENTIONS. Even if he's updated his timeline, what good could it do? It's not as if we could chat more often. He's probably forgotten about me by now.

EDIT: Argh, I gave in too quickly. I logged into Facebook. I was wrong about him not doing much. That was a stupid assumption to make, considering his personality. Saw a few pictures of him at a postgraduate party, laughing and drinking beer. Someone took a picture of him sleeping, a row of empty bottles beside him. Then there was a picture of him posing with a few girls who seemed very keen to hug him. It felt depressing, for some reason. It wasn't one of your small high-school parties, where everyone knows each other well, and everything is fun and innocent. It was one of those parties - the sort that uni students go to and talk about "mature" things like scandals and gulp down tins of beer, where girls dress up, and guys flirt outrageously. Backstabbing is not only expected, but encouraged. I miss those days - parties were so much nicer and more comfortable then. But I know it will never come back. How I used to look forward to parties! Now I only dread them.

He seems ... so different. Only less than two months ago, he was kind and gentlemanly and intellectual - I felt happy and safe with him. But now, looking at these pictures ... he looks so grown-up, so lax, so ... normal. I have no right to be upset at what everyone else does. There is nothing wrong in attending parties. Wanting to see people in a relaxed environment (relaxed for them, anyway) is natural. 

I know I should be happy that he's finally found friends at uni, but I can't help feeling miserable. When you are deeply unhappy, the welfare of others ceases to be a subject of your concern. Misery breeds selfishness.

The truth is that we're not compatible. He's fun and gregarious, I prefer peace and quiet. I could never stomach being in one of those parties - the noise, beer and gossip would overwhelm me. I have nothing in common with partygoers my age, much less with John's postgrad buddies. He probably finds these activities more interesting than our conversations on art. I'm sure he thinks I'm a bore. And he's right.

Everyone has grown up, and only I have remained a child. I feel small and vulnerable.


	2. Chapter 2: Why I dislike idealisations of childhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways  
> Beside the springs of Dove,  
> A Maid whom there were none to praise  
> And very few to love:
> 
> A violet by a mossy stone  
> Half hidden from the eye!  
> Fair as a star, when only one  
> Is shining in the sky.
> 
> She lived unknown, and few could know  
> When Lucy ceased to be;  
> But she is in her grave, and oh,  
> The difference to me!"  
> \- William Wordsworth.
> 
> "A SLUMBER did my spirit seal;  
> I had no human fears:  
> She seem'd a thing that could not feel  
> The touch of earthly years.
> 
> No motion has she now, no force;  
> She neither hears nor sees;  
> Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course,  
> With rocks, and stones, and trees."  
> \- William Wordsworth.

I used to enjoy reading Wordsworth, especially his Lucy poems. I used to dream of living amid nature, of shunning industrialisation and pollution and the unthinking crowds. There was a time I thought, in common with the Romantic poets, that childlike innocence was a sweet and desirable state, because it seemed so pure and deep, and that one could find happiness in this state.

What the poets have told you is not true. Childlike innocence is NOT great or to be celebrated. What those poets never told you was that Wordsworth's Lucy was a strange, unearthly creature whom people found odd. She was not fit for the real world. That was why Wordsworth kept going on and on about her death. She is dead, not only because of natural illness, but what I mean is that she is dead in a social sense. She does not live for most people, because she is so isolated. People would have shunned her, because they could not understand her. 

Very few individuals can live in such isolation. I know, there are extreme introverts and everything, but surely Lucy had to meet people sometimes? Surely she had to get letters from the post office, buy vegetables from the market, gossip with the neighbours? Even if she was an extreme introvert, it doesn't make sense that Wordsworth tries to make her sound sweet and loveable. Extreme introverts are not loveable. They are not fond of people, and since they don't see people very much, it stands to reason that people are not going to love them. I can imagine Lucy as a grumpy old woman, but not as a sweet and interesting girl.

What Wordsworth never tells us is her unhappiness. Surely she must have been unhappy, being unknown and unloved? Everyone needs love, and honestly I don't think much of Wordsworth's love of her. I'm pretty sure he never knew such a person. He was only painting an ideal from his mind. Had Lucy existed, I can bet you he would have ignored her, even though he thinks he worships her. Men can be so dense. They claim they worship a pure, innocent, childlike girl who lives among the trees and hills, a nice quiet girl who defers to their wishes. In reality they'd find her boring. They would leave her for the more stimulating city and forget all about her. On the other hand they will condemn women for being artificial, malicious and slutty. Ironically they will end up being attracted to this sort of women, because they are interesting and attractive. Nobleness is never interesting, except in your imagination. I hate it when people romanticise solitude. Getting away from the real world is a relief for a short while, but afterwards you get tired of being alone. There is nothing deep or great about perpetual loneliness. It is the invention of lonely souls who want to convince themselves they're greater than the social masses. Over-romanticising solitude is narcissistic. It indicates that you only enjoy your own company. I do like a great deal of peace and quiet, but even introverts need friends. I'm not asking for deep friendship, the sort of friendship in which we discuss philosophy and poetry and politics into the wee hours of the morning. All I want is just a friend - I don't mind even a shallow superficial friendship, so long as there is someone to talk to and hang out with. Many people put up with superficial friendships when they graduate and come out to work. It seems to work for them. Many people are tolerably contented with it, so why shouldn't I?


End file.
